For the Greater Good
by Darkover
Summary: How Bob Fraser and Buck Frobisher became partners again, and why their partnership suffered a rift in the first place.


17

**Title: **"For the Greater Good"

**Author: **Darkover, a.k.a. TheQueenly1

**Rating: **K+ (for one swear word)

**Disclaimer: **I do not own any of the characters of "due South." No copyright infringement is intended or should be inferred. Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, so please do not sue.

**Spoilers: **Essentially all of "due South," because while this story takes place prior to the series, there are references made to events mentioned in "Manhunt," "Mountie on the Bounty," "Call of the Wild," and possibly other episodes. Is there anyone who loves this series, though, who hasn't seen the whole thing by now?

**Characters: **Buck Frobisher, Bob Fraser. No slash.

**Summary: **How Bob Fraser and Buck Frobisher became partners again—and why their partnership suffered a rift in the first place.

**Dedication: **To MagsyB, and all the other "Red Suits You" fans!

[Bob would never do anything to hurt the boy.

Buck Frobisher kept repeating those words over and over again in his mind, as a mantra or perhaps as a prayer, as he slogged along over the tundra. It was summer here in the northernmost parts of Canada; so although the weather was still cold, there was not enough snow on the ground to warrant the use of snowshoes, much less a snowmobile. That was unfortunate, in Buck's opinion. The travel might actually have been easier if it had been winter. As it was, he had driven his truck part of the way, and then been forced to leave the vehicle behind when fallen trees blocked the road. Now he was continuing the rest of the way on foot, and the leg that had been stabbed several years earlier by Harold Geiger was sending out twinges of protest. Buck knew that if he did not slow his pace, his leg would feel like fire later. He did not slow his pace.

[Bob would never do anything to hurt the boy. Never.

He silently, doggedly repeated those words again, as an antidote to the worry and dread that had arisen in him when, having heard the news, he had made the trip to Bob's cabin, only to find it deserted. The cabin was empty, the dogs gone, and there was no sign of life. Only the journal of his former partner had been sitting open on the table, the most recent entry just one sentence long; I brought death into my house.

That entry had been dated twenty-one days ago.

[It doesn't matter. Grief and despair can make people do crazy things, but not Bob Fraser. He isn't like most men.

Even as he doggedly repeated these words in his mind, Buck recalled a terrible incident that had transpired only last winter. A trapper on Buck's route, in the grip of long-standing personal problems that were exacerbated by a combination of alcohol and cabin fever, shot his wife and two children dead in their sleep, before setting his cabin on fire and turning his gun on himself. In the note the man had left behind, he had indicated his belief that he was doing his family a favor; he was saving them from the misery that was sure to come if their lives had continued in this hard old world.

[Bob Fraser's not like that. He wouldn't harm Benton, no matter what. He must have taken the boy with him when he left the cabin. That would be the logical thing to do, after all; a child Benton's age can't be left by himself. Thank God it's summer: no fresh snow has fallen to cover his tracks. I can follow him, help them make it to an outpost.

In spite of their partnership being the best the north had ever known, it had been three years since Frobisher and Fraser had spoken to each other. Three years since they quarreled. Wistfully, Buck recalled the day it happened. Benton's third birthday….

"Gosh! Thank you, Buck!" Benton's blue eyes were wide with delight as he held the new pair of handmade, child-sized snowshoes given to him by his father's partner. The child's enthusiasm was obvious, and he was clearly far more pleased with this gift than with the picture book given to him by his grandparents. Much later, Buck wondered if perhaps that contributed to what followed.

Bob's mother cleared her throat. "Benton. Little boys do not address adults by their first names, remember?"

"I don't mind," Buck said amiably to the room at large, which consisted of the birthday boy, Bob and Caroline Fraser, and Bob's mother, who had made the trip all the way out to the cabin for the birthday of her grandson. Bob's father had remained behind to keep the library open as usual.

"Well, I'm afraid I do mind," the elder Mrs. Fraser said crisply. "We insist on proper behavior in this family."

"He's still a baby, Mother Fraser," Caroline said quietly.

Benton, who had been watching the adults wide-eyed, broke in. "I'm sorry, Sgt. Frobisher," he said quickly. "Can I put these on and go outside to try them out, Daddy?"

"May I," Bob's mother said pointedly, before her son could reply. "We say, 'May I,' Benton."

It was exactly one month prior to this occasion that Frobisher had been wounded by Geiger; it was only recently that he had been released from the hospital, and the injury still hurt. That made Buck less patient, and rather less respectful, than usual. "For God's sake, Mrs. Fraser, lighten up. The boy just turned three today."

"Buck's right, Mother Fraser," Caroline said. "This is Benton's birthday."

Her mother-in-law sniffed. "That is no excuse for laxness."

"Benton, take the snowshoes outside to the barn," Bob said. "Stay inside with the dogs, and I'll be out in a few minutes to give you a lesson."

"And put on your coat, Ben," Caroline said.

"Yes, Mummy. Thanks, Daddy!" Benton snatched up the items and disappeared outside, letting the cabin door slam behind him. His grandmother gave an exaggerated wince.

"You're too soft on the boy, Bob," she told her son accusingly, as if he had failed her in some way. "I've often said so. The lesson could have waited until company left."

"He's only a child, Mother, and he was excited."

"Even so. One must be tough to survive here in the north. You do Benton no favors by indulging him. We've barely finished dinner, and we haven't had the cake yet."

"I'm surprised you believe in letting him have birthday cake," Buck muttered. Bob's mother turned on him.

"Do you suppose you're being amusing, Sgt. Frobisher?"

"Buck didn't mean anything by it, Mother Fraser," Caroline said, before Frobisher could reply. He smiled at his partner's wife.

"You're right, Caroline, as always. You're as sensible as you are beautiful."

"Well." The elder Mrs. Fraser got to her feet. "If this is the way it's going to be, perhaps I should just leave."

"Perhaps you should," Buck said before he could stop himself.

"Mother, sit down," Bob Fraser said. "Buck, come with me." He hustled his partner outside. The two men stood facing each other.

"Going to read me the riot act, now?" Buck asked. He had intended for it to sound humorous; instead, it sounded like a challenge. He saw his partner's expression harden.

"You were out of line in there."

"Maybe so," Frobisher said, his tone less apologetic than it should have been. "Was your mother always such a hard case, Bob? If so, it explains a lot about you."

His partner's expression hardened still further. "I don't just mean how you spoke to my mother. I'm also talking about how you spoke to my wife."

"Caroline?" Buck was dumbfounded.

"Do I have another wife? My point is, she's my wife, not yours, so keep the flirtatious comments to yourself."

"You're not bringing that up again, are you?" Frobisher snapped. "All right, you saved her by making a lucky shot—"

"It wasn't—"

"I know she chose you over me, Bob," Buck said, fast losing patience. The wound in his leg was aching more intensely in the cold. He wanted to be back inside the cabin, not resurrecting a romantic rivalry between them that he had long believed to be settled. "But that doesn't make you the senior partner, you know."

"It makes me her husband."

"I know that, for God's sake!" A flare of severe pain made Buck curse suddenly, and he began to massage his leg. Bob glanced at it.

"It still hurts?" Perhaps he meant for his words to sound sympathetic, but to Buck, it seemed as if Bob was pointing out a weakness. Buck forced himself to stand straight, glared at his partner, and in an attempt to cover his momentary lapse, said the first thing that came into his head.

"I wouldn't have been wounded if you had backed me up."

The look on Bob's face almost made Buck retract the words, but then Bob's expression changed and he said roughly; "You're blaming me for the fact that you got stabbed? How am I to blame for your carelessness?"

Accusing Bob Fraser of not being there when his partner needed him was unfair and Buck knew it, but now his pride as well as his leg was hurting. "All I know is that partners back each other up."

Bob Fraser exhaled loudly. "Look, I've had enough of this. If you're willing to apologize—"

"Me?!"

"—You can come back inside. If not, I think you should go."

"Damn right I'll go." Buck grabbed for his own snowshoes. "If that's your attitude, this is a partnership I can do without!"

Bob Fraser's expression had darkened. He went back into the cabin without a word, slamming the door behind him.

That was three years ago. The men had not spoken since.

[Caroline is dead. Murdered. If I know Bob Fraser—and I do—he won't rest until he found the man who did this, even if he has to track the killer to the ends of the earth. If he is in pursuit of this man, though, why would he take his son with him? But if he didn't take Benton with him, then where is the boy? I must stop thinking like this. Bob wouldn't do anything like that trapper did!

A loud, rushing roar indicated the presence of water ahead. Buck slowed his pace just a bit as he approached the rise, and gripped the coil of rope he held over his shoulder.

He went over the rise—

The river was before him, swollen almost to the point of overflowing its banks, but Frobisher barely noticed that. His heart leaped as he saw Bob Fraser standing on the opposite bank, staring hopelessly at the rushing river. There was no sign of Benton, but off in the distance were several men, all armed, all clearly intent on Fraser as their quarry. They would be within firing range within a few minutes.

"Bob!" Frobisher shouted.

He thought the other man might not be able to hear him over the roar of the river, but his former partner's head immediately snapped up. They stared directly at each other as if hypnotized. Neither could cross the river by himself; but Bob had a grappling hook, and one of the items Buck had retrieved from his truck was a coil of rope.

[Partners back each other up.

Without an instant's hesitation, Frobisher tossed one end of the rope to Fraser. Bob caught it effortlessly, and immediately began attaching it to the grappling hook, while Buck secured his end of the rope to the nearest and sturdiest tree. Bob sank the hook into the largest boulder of a rock fixture. He took several precious but necessary seconds making certain it was secure, testing his weight on it, before beginning to cross the river.

"Hurry, Bob!" The men were gaining on his friend, swiveling their rifles in his direction. Frobisher unholstered his own weapon and stepped behind a tree, using it for cover.

Bob was only halfway across before the bullets began to fly. Taking a deep breath, he plunged below the swollen surface, but he did not lose his grip on the rope—the only thing keeping him from being swept away by the raging current—nor did he pause in his frenetic swimming. Buck returned fire, his lone handgun not much of a threat compared to the rifles of the other men, but turning their attention to him enough so that they momentarily stopped shooting at his partner. There were thunk sounds as bullets buried themselves in the tree trunk, and one shot knocked off Frobisher's Stetson hat, but he did not pause in his firing, save once to reload his revolver.

After what seemed like an age but was undoubtedly only a very few minutes, Bob reached the river bank and climbed out of the water. Soaked and gasping, he still wasted no time. Snatching his survival knife from his belt, he severed the rope, then staggered over to where Buck stood, fumbling for his own still-holstered revolver. Buck shook his head, grabbed hold of his friend, and gave him a hard shove toward the direction from which he, Buck, had just come.

"Back! That way!"

Both Mounties started to run. With the rope cut, the other men could not follow, but shots were still being fired; Fraser and Frobisher would not be out of range until they were over the rise. Bob was soaked and shivering, but he made better time than Buck did with his overtaxed leg. Frobisher barely made it over the rise before the leg gave out and he collapsed.

Bob immediately examined the leg, knowing without being told what the problem was. He administered some basic first aid; then the two men gathered wood and started a fire. They worked without hesitation, without even much conversation at first, doing what needed to be done, working as a team. It was not until Bob was reasonably dry, and the pain in Buck's leg had subsided, that the latter learned what had happened. Bob Fraser, in search of Holloway Muldoon, Caroline's murderer, had a tip that Muldoon had a former partner out this way—a partner who might have some idea as to Muldoon's whereabouts. Unfortunately, the former partner had found new partners: other poachers who, unhappily surprised by suddenly finding a Mountie in their midst, decided to forgo arrest by killing the Mountie. Had it not been for Buck's fortuitous arrival, they very probably would have succeeded. While grateful for Buck's help, Bob clearly was not concerned about his own safety. His mind had returned to the never-ending circle of guilt it clearly had been in since the murder of his wife.

"I brought death into my house, Buck."

Frobisher propped himself up on his elbows; his injured leg was stiff and almost useless. "That's nonsense, Bob. Stop talking like that. You couldn't have known."

His partner continued to stare into the fire, unwilling to absolve himself. "It was my job to protect her. To protect them. I failed, Buck. No excuses."

Buck took a very deep breath. "Bob…where is Benton? Did Muldoon…?"

"What?" For the first time, Bob looked up from the fire, and a bit of life returned to his eyes. "No. He killed Caroline, but my son is still alive. Benton's just motherless, thanks to my failure. I took him to my parents' home immediately after the funeral, and then I set off after Muldoon."

Buck was quiet. There seemed to be nothing to say, except; "We'll get him, Bob. We'll find the bastard. We always do."

"Yes." Bob Fraser seemed to shake himself, like a lead sled dog getting its second wind. He stood up, put out the fire, then walked almost briskly over to help his partner to his feet. "Here, climb onto my back."

"I can walk," Buck protested automatically.

"Pshaw, you can barely stand. One good favor deserves another."

"You would have found some way out of that situation if I hadn't come along."

"I doubt that, but that isn't what I mean. You once found me out on the ice and carried me back; I'd say that I owe it to you to do the same." As he spoke, Bob settled Buck into position on his back. "Besides, who's counting?"

"Not me," Buck replied, as he settled into as comfortable a position as possible. As Bob started walking, carrying his partner, Buck added; "My truck is just a few miles from here."

"You needed a truck? You are getting soft," Bob scoffed, with a trace of their old banter. "Which direction?"

Buck smiled as he thought of partnerships and how important they were. "Due south."


End file.
